


Knots

by shealwaysreads (onereader)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Its Not About Power and Control, M/M, Riding, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shibari, Spanking, The Gentlest of Bondage, its about LOVE, soft and gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28594716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader/pseuds/shealwaysreads
Summary: There is a trunk at the end of their bed, and sometimes they use the rope.Always, they love.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 26
Kudos: 135





	Knots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slytherco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherco/gifts).
  * Inspired by [you keep me without chains (you hold me without touch)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/738909) by slytherco. 



> A gift for [slytherco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherco/pseuds/slytherco) based on her incredible art for [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitp%E2%80%9D>sitp's</a>%20birthday%0A<a%20href=)
> 
> As always, slytherco, your art is beautiful and totally inspiring, and I’m so grateful you share it with us all so generously. Your heart and passion and hard work are in every line, shadow, and ounce of emotion you imbue your art with, and I hope I did that justice! ❤️

Harry was reckless. He always had been. Recklessly brave, recklessly hopeful, recklessly open-hearted. He threw himself into dives on a broom that nobody else dared. He cast with all the instinctual courage of a man who _knew_ his own strength. And since they had tripped back into each other’s lives, he had been wild and incautious in his pursuit and his persistent wanting of Draco.

He was wild enough to lure Draco out of his well-entrenched prudence and fear. Brave enough for the both of them—at first, before Draco caught up. Daring enough to hand his heart over, his faith in Draco’s gentleness borne from no place Draco understood, even now. 

But when they were together like this, Harry was careful. He was careful when he slipped each mother-of-pearl button free from crisp cotton and stripped Draco bare from his shirt to his socks; fingers firm but gentle on the sensitive arch of Draco’s feet. He was careful when he retrieved the black rope he kept neatly coiled in the locked trunk at the end of their bed, and he was careful as he looped it around Draco’s chest, his shoulders, his arms. Harry was careful with each and every knot he wove—sure and competent—careful to arrange them with beauty and a sharp eye for sensitivity. 

He led Draco to stand in front of the mirror that was situated in the corner of their bedroom, so he could watch as Harry adorned him in restraint. The dark lines of the rope against his skin always sent a tingle of astonished heat through Draco. He had never expected to enjoy this, to enjoy being _tied up_. But every carefully placed bind felt like an extension of Harry’s touch—intentional and firm—and Draco’s yielding became artful, not enforced. With Harry, Draco could loosen his iron grip on his own self-restraint and allow himself to float in this space that they created together, where all he was aware of was the blood-heavy presence of his body, in this moment, and Harry around him. 

Sometimes Harry suspended him in the air, using nothing more than the rope and his own magic—his Levicorpus was more secure than any rafter-embedded hook could hope to be—but today Harry asked him to stay standing on his own two feet and _watch_. Over his shoulders went the rope, then under his armpits, then back again to frame his chest. Harry had paused then, both ends of the rope held in one hand, and leaned down to kiss and lick across Draco’s nipples until he was breathless and aching. Then down he went, weaving rope and Draco’s body into art. The knot that sat beneath Draco’s belly button made him clench his muscles, because he knew what came next. 

Harry had delicate knots for Draco’s cock, carefully placed. Under the head, perfectly agonising pressure against his frenulum. Around his balls, between his cheeks, at the base of his back. All the places he wanted Harry. By the time Harry was finished, Draco was utterly still, and every nerve in his body sang. His legs were free, to keep him standing, but otherwise the restraint was complete. His hands were behind him, palm to palm; so gently bound. Black rope, pale skin, and the rosy flush Harry never failed to rouse.

Then Harry bent him forward, and told Draco to watch them in the mirror. He used the rope around Draco’s chest as a firm hold, to stop him from pitching forward when the first blow came down on his arse. He caught Harry’s gaze in the mirror, watched the way his gasp and irrepressible twitch of pleasure-pain-pleasure made Harry’s breath quicken, and nodded his acquiescence for more. Harry was careful in this, too. He was measured, and deliberate, and drew Draco’s body into a confused rush of adrenaline and arousal with each weighty slap—every time his hand made stinging contact with Draco’s skin, it pressed the knot of rope against Draco’s perineum, made his cock throb inside the delicate cage of binding, caught his breath against the tight rope around his chest. 

Harry stopped—always, _always_ before Draco had to ask—and gently brought him back upright. He let Draco lean against him, took his weight and stroked across sensitive skin and inky rope. And then, with a kiss behind Draco’s ear, Harry began to unlace the web he had spun around him. Each knot released smoothly, and the rope pooled at their feet as Harry worked; his face so focused Draco might have thought him unaffected, if it wasn’t for the blooming width of his pupils, and the hot pressure of his erection against Draco’s hip as he slipped the last knot free at his chest.

“Look at yourself,” he instructed, and watched as Draco complied.

The rope was gone, but it had left its mark. Red lines, the imprint of weave and knot, stood proud on Draco’s body. An echo of Harry’s work. Tingling and tangible impressions of this game they played. Harry’s care, and Draco’s daring.

“Let me check you,” he asked, and Draco followed as Harry sat on their bed and held his arms out. 

This was what Harry always did, after. He ran his fingers over every mark left on Draco’s body, reverent and attentive. Draco settled his hands on Harry’s shoulders; they both floated a little, after, and so he weighed Harry back down with touch. Draco stroked along his collarbones, tangled his fingers into the short curls at the nape of his neck, and sighed when Harry let his head drop forward to rest against Draco’s chest. 

“Touch me, Harry.” 

Now Harry was the one who didn’t pause before acting on instruction; he slid his hands up Draco’s thighs—wand and broom callus against the grain of fine hair—until he was pulling Draco closer with a firm grip on his still-glowing cheeks. Draco dropped a kiss into Harry’s messy curls before he used his hold on his hair to tilt Harry’s head back, then held him there and kissed him slow, tonguing at the softness of the inside of his top lip. 

It was easy to push Harry down onto the bed, easy to climb onto his lap—even if the brush of their cocks together was enough to make Draco gasp, even if he was distracted with the notion of taking them both in one hand and… But Draco wanted more of that perfect pressure that Harry put upon him, he wanted to turn all this freshly unrestrained freedom of movement onto Harry. So he only rolled his hips once—twice—before groping under his pillow for his wand and casting at himself. There were days for slow and lazy fingering, and this wasn’t one. 

Harry watched it all with catlike satisfaction from his sprawl on the covers, but still looked surprised when Draco first grasped his cock and slid down on him. His hands shot out, gripped at Draco’s hips and tried to slow him. But Draco just breathed deep, leaned back, and pressed himself down until they were joined as closely as he could make them. He clenched around Harry, and shivered at the resulting thrust from below. Then he planted his knees and began to move. 

They were both quiet, both watching. Something about the rope soothed them both, settled them into this—just this—just skin and skin, and pulses racing in synchronicity. Draco knew Harry was close, the grip on his hips grew tighter and he could feel Harry’s thighs trembling with restraint. It never took them long, when it was like this, the physical join of their bodies was almost secondary to the rest. Harry was careful for Draco, and Draco was brave for Harry. This was just one of the ways they gifted themselves to each other, the ropes were just a temporary illustration of the ties that bound them together. 

Draco came first, with a tilt of his hips that brought Harry’s solidity into crushing contact with his prostate—the final press he had been seeking since the first brush of rope through Harry’s fingers. Harry followed, of course, with a shuddering sigh and a softening of his hands where they held Draco close and still. 

It was Draco, this time, who leaned in to lay his head on Harry’s chest, to listen to his heartbeat, to kiss there while they both still panted. And it was Harry who brought his arms around Draco’s shoulders, who tangled his fingers—careful, gentle—into Draco’s hair to sweep him down from the floating place, to bring him back to earth, to bed, to him. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, leave a kudos or comment and come and say hello on [Tumblr!](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com/) ❤️


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